Fever of the Bone

by Val McDermid

  ‘We wouldn’t be a very effective data-storage facility if we didn’t,’ she said. ‘Is this to do with one of our clients? Because I should warn you, we take the Data Protection Act very seriously here.’

  ‘Can we talk inside?’

  She shrugged. ‘Sure, come on in.’ She unlocked the door and led the way into a typical farmhouse kitchen. An Aga, scrubbed pine worktops, a big table in the middle of the room with half a dozen matching chairs. Money had been spent here, but not recently. It had the comfortable, lived-in feel of a home rather than a showpiece. The table was littered with magazines and newspapers. A webbook sat open in front of one of the chairs, an open packet of chocolate digestives next to it. Diane Patrick’s boot-heels rang out on the quarry-tiled floor as she made for the kettle sitting on the range. She put the kettle on to boil and turned to face them, her arms folded over her small breasts.

  ‘We’re looking for Warren Davy,’ Ambrose said, scanning the room and taking in every detail.

  ‘He’s not here,’ she said.

  ‘Do you know when he’ll be back?’

  ‘I don’t. He’s in Malta, setting up a new system for a client. He’ll be there as long as it takes.’

  Ambrose was disappointed. ‘When did he leave?’

  ‘He flew out of Manchester a week last Friday,’ she said, puzzlement drawing a pair of lines between her brows. ‘Why are you looking for him? Is there a problem with one of our clients? Because if it is, I can maybe help.’

  ‘It’s to do with his car,’ he said.

  ‘What about his car? Has it been stolen? He always leaves it in the long-term parking at the airport.’

  ‘We just need to ask him some questions about his whereabouts a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘Why? Was he involved in an accident? He never said anything to me.’

  ‘If you don’t mind, I’d rather wait till I can discuss it with Mr Davy.’ It was clear from his tone that there was no room for discussion.

  She shrugged. ‘Since you’ve come all the way out here, the least I can do is offer you something to drink.’

  Both officers opted for tea. While she brewed, Ambrose took the opportunity to ask her about the business.

  ‘There’s two parts to it, really,’ she said absently, as if she’d gone through it so many times she could do it on autopilot. ‘We set up on-site security systems for our customers. Sometimes, like Warren’s doing in Malta, we literally build the kit for them. But most of what we do is about providing secure off-site data storage. Companies can either upload their data to our secure servers at preset times every day or every week, depending on their needs. Or they can opt for the Rolls-Royce option, which is a real-time back-up of every keystroke on the system. That way, if their building burns down, they don’t lose a thing.’ She poured boiling water into the pot and replaced the lid.

  ‘Is that what’s out in the barn?’ Ambrose asked.

  She nodded. ‘That’s our storage facility. The walls are two feet thick. No windows, steel doors. The actual servers and the data blades in their chassis are held inside a climate-controlled inner room with reinforced glass walls. Only Warren and I can gain entry.’

  ‘You’re really not kidding, are you?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’ She handed them each a mug of tea and sipped from her own.

  ‘Can we see it?’

  Diane bit her lip. ‘We generally don’t let people in. Even clients only see it when they first sign up for the service.’

  Ambrose gave her his best smile. ‘We’re not going to misbehave. We’re the police, after all. It’s just that I’ve never seen anything like that before.’

  ‘I don’t know. Warren’s pretty strict about it.’

  Ambrose spread his hands. ‘Warren’s not here, though. Go on, satisfy my curiosity. I’m just a big kid, really.’ He wasn’t sure why he was so keen to see inside the data-storage barn. But her reluctance only sharpened his curiosity.

  She sighed and dumped her mug on the table. ‘Oh, all right. But you have to leave your tea here. No liquids in the control area.’ Having decided, she didn’t hang about, bustling out of the house and across the yard.

  Ambrose watched keenly as Diane placed her finger on a glass plate in the lee of the doorway. ‘How does it work?’ he said. ‘Is it fingerprints?’

  ‘No, it’s vein pattern analysis. Apparently, it’s as unique as a fingerprint but the beauty of it is that it only works if it’s still attached to a blood supply. In other words, you can’t just chop off my finger and use that to get in, the way you can with fingerprints. ‘ The door slid open and they followed her into a mantrap that was barely big enough for all three of them. They emerged in a small control room where half a dozen monitors continuously scrolled data past their eyes. Lights blinked and twinkled around them.

  Beyond the monitors, a glass wall separated them from twenty metal towers, each of which had between a dozen and twenty dark red plastic handles protruding from them. ‘Every one of those data blades holds more than a terabyte of data. Which is bigger than I can readily explain to you,’ Diane said.

  Ambrose was taken aback. ‘It’s amazing.’

  ‘Especially if your only experience of computers is desktop and laptop systems,’ Diane agreed, her voice softening. ‘It’s a bit like something out of Dr Who or James Bond - a fantasy come to life.’

  Ambrose gave a little laugh. ‘I don’t even know what questions to ask.’

  ‘Most people don’t. Come on, let’s go and finish our tea while it’s still hot.’

  Back in the kitchen, Ambrose asked for details of the client in Malta.

  For the first time since they’d arrived, Diane Patrick looked discomfited. ‘I don’t actually know.’

  ‘That seems kind of strange to me,’ Ambrose said.

  ‘I can see why you might think that. But mostly we each have our own clients. We only bother with the details of the other’s accounts when for some reason we have to deal with them. Like this last week. I’ve had to make a couple of site visits to one of Warren’s clients because he’s out of the country and they’ve needed something physical taken care of. So Warren asked me to step into the breach, the same way I’d ask him if I was off the grid.’

  ‘So you’ve been in touch with Warren?’

  She looked as if she was puzzled by the question. ‘Of course I have. He’s my partner. I mean, he’s my partner partner as well as my business partner. We email several times a day, and we skype.’

  Now it was Ambrose’s turn to look puzzled.

  ‘It’s a way of making phone calls via the internet,’ she said. ‘It’s cheaper than using your mobile to make international calls.’

  ‘Are you expecting to hear from him later today?’ Ambrose said.

  ‘I would think so.’ She seemed to brighten at the thought. ‘Do you want me to get him to call you?’

  Ambrose took a card from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to her. ‘My mobile’s on there.’

  ‘West Mercia Police,’ she said. ‘I didn’t register that before. You’re a long way from home. It must be serious if you’ve come all the way up here.’

  It didn’t surprise him that she was on the ball. You didn’t get to own an operation like this without an eye for detail. ‘It’s just routine,’ he said, not expecting it to fool her for a moment. ‘We take all crimes seriously.’

  ‘I’m sure you do,’ she said drily. ‘Well, I’ll pass your details on to Warren and tell him to get in touch.’

  It was clearly a dismissal. They put down their mugs and headed back to the car. ‘What do you think?’ his driver asked as they drew out of the gate.

  ‘I think it’s very interesting that Warren Davy’s out there in the wind somewhere. Right off his usual patch. And with all the cyber-capability he’s got at his fingertips . . .’ He turned to look at the farm receding in the distance. ‘. . . Frankly, I’m wondering if he ever went to Malta.’

  CHAPTER 34

  Sam ran
g the doorbell and took a step back, taking in the expansive double front of Nigel Barnes’s house. ‘Doesn’t look like the recession’s hit Nigel yet.’

  ‘Is he still in banking?’ Carol asked.

  ‘No, he moved into insurance five years ago. I’ve no idea what that means. Who knows what those bastards actually do?’

  Carol grunted. She didn’t want to be here. When Sam had walked into her office and proposed they deal with Nigel Barnes here and now, she’d protested. ‘It’s nine o’clock on a Sunday night.’

  ‘Exactly. He’ll be off his guard. And besides, we’ve hit the quiet before the storm in the murder investigation. We’re waiting for the guys on the ground to come up with actionable information. We’re waiting for Stacey to find something to move us forward. We’re just sitting around fretting because we can’t do anything to stop this bastard in his tracks. We might as well be out there doing something useful.’ He gave her a sidelong grin. It might have been sexy if she’d been remotely interested in Sam. As it was, she read it as his attempt to get under her guard. ‘Think how nice it would be to hand it to Blake all tied up in a bow, totally out of the blue.’

  It had been the perfect line and so here she was. Instead of catching up on her sleep or reading the reports coming in from the divisions, she had Sam’s back on a doorstep on a fourteen-year-old case where they had next to no evidence. ‘He’s not in,’ she grumbled.

  Just then a light turned on in the hallway. Sam gave her a triumphant smile before rearranging his face for the man who opened the door.

  Judging from the photos in the file, the years had been kind to Nigel Barnes. Forty-three years old and still no trace of grey in the heavy shock of blond hair whose style was reminiscent of Michael Heseltine at the height of his Tarzan reputation. Smooth skin, no bags under his light blue eyes, his jawline still taut. His mouth and chin were too weak, his nose too fleshy, but he’d made the most of what he had. Carol thought he looked as if he’d spent more time in a facial spa than anyone should. He looked politely baffled at the sight of them. ‘Yes?’

  Carol introduced them. ‘I’m afraid we have some bad news for you, Mr Barnes. I think it might be better all round if we were to come inside.’

  His face seemed to harden. His lips barely moved as he said, ‘You’ve found them.’

  Carol dipped her head. ‘Yes. We have.’

  ‘Where?’ He shook his head, as if he couldn’t take it in.

  ‘Where you put them,’ Sam said, his voice cold and clipped.

  Barnes took a step backwards, instinctively trying to put the door between them. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Sam stepped forward and put his foot in the doorway. ‘We’d like you to come down to the station with us and answer some questions.’

  Barnes shook his head. ‘Are you out of your mind? You tell me you’ve discovered the bodies of my wife and child. And you want me to come to the police station? As if I was a suspect? ‘

  ‘I never said anything about bodies,’ Carol pointed out. ‘I just agreed that we’d found them.’

  Barnes’s eyes narrowed. ‘You said you had bad news. That’s hardly what you’d say if they were alive and well and living in Brighton.’

  ‘There’s more than one kind of bad news. You’re the one who jumped to the conclusion I was talking about your wife and child. Please get your coat, Mr Barnes. This will all be much easier in the police station than on your doorstep.’

  ‘I’m not coming anywhere with you.’ He tried to close the door but Sam leaned into it. His muscles were more than a match for Barnes, who had gym bulk but no real strength.

  ‘You can come voluntarily or I’ll arrest you,’ Carol said.

  ‘Arrest me?’ He sounded incredulous. ‘I’m the victim here.’ He was still pushing against the door.

  Carol rolled her eyes. ‘Nigel Barnes, I am arresting you on suspicion of perverting the course of justice. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Sam, cuff Mr Barnes.’

  Barnes suddenly stepped back from the door, catching Sam off-balance. Only a desperate grab at the door jamb saved him from sprawling on the floor. ‘There’s no need for that,’ Barnes said, his voice tight. ‘I’ll get my coat.’

  ‘Sam, go with him. You are under arrest, Mr Barnes,’ Carol called after him.

  It took twenty minutes to get him back to the station and another hour for his solicitor to show up. Carol was so tired she wanted to lay her head on the desk and cry, but at least Sam would be leading the interview. He thought she was doing him a favour because of the work he’d done on the case; the truth was she didn’t think she had the energy to question Barnes properly. The one pleasant surprise while they’d been hanging around was finding Tim Parker’s third attempt at a profile on her desk. As she read it, her smile grew. So that’s what Tony had decided to do with him. She supposed training him to be better was a preferable option to ripping his arm off and hitting him with the wet end, which was what she’d felt like earlier. Trust Tony to find a way through the mess.

  And now she had to pray Sam could do the same.

  The waiter offered coffee; both women ordered espressos. Elinor caught Paula’s eyes and burst out laughing. ‘Docs and cops - the only people who can drink espresso after dinner and know it’s not going to keep them awake.’

  Paula smiled, a lazy smile that spread across her face like jam on a toddler. ‘I don’t usually have something this entertaining to stay awake for, though.’

  ‘Me neither.’ Elinor drained the last of her red wine and sighed with pleasure. Tonight she appeared to have cast off the weariness of work. Somehow she’d found the time to put her hair up in some complicated pleat and change into an aquamarine silk shirt that made her eyes look like jewels. She was radiant, apparently illuminated from within. Paula thought her skin actually glowed. She felt amazingly lucky. ‘Thank you for making time for this,’ Elinor said.

  ‘Like you said, we both have to eat. And there’s nothing else I can do tonight except go over my witness statements again till I’m cross-eyed. I’m just glad you were free.’

  ‘Even Mr Denby has to set the slaves free sometimes.’ The coffee arrived, hot and strong, and they appreciated it in a moment of quiet.

  Paula couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such a relaxed evening. It was what she’d longed for, but she couldn’t quite let go of the old cop’s maxim: hope for the best, expect the worst. But this time, she seemed to have beaten the house. The conversation had flowed easily between them. They liked the same music, their reading overlapped enough for them to share opinions, they had similar taste in films. They both loved red wine and red meat. Elinor even confessed that she enjoyed the occasional cigarette. ‘One or two a week,’ she said. ‘Last thing at night, with a whisky.’

  ‘If I could smoke like that, I’d be happy,’ Paula admitted. ‘With me, it’s all or nothing. I want to quit again, but I know I have to work up to it.’

  ‘You stopped before?’

  ‘Yeah. I was doing really well until . . . Oh, it’s a long story.’ And I don’t want to tell it unless this starts to go somewhere. ‘The five-second version? A friend of mine - a colleague, actually, but he was my friend too - he got killed.’ And I nearly died too, but that’s where I don’t want to go tonight.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Elinor said. ‘That must have been difficult. It’s strange how often the death of people we love brings out the self-destructive behaviour in all of us.’ And she’d left it at that, which Paula had been grateful for and impressed by.

  Now, as they finished their coffee and split the bill, there was an unmistakable frisson between them. Paula wanted to touch Elinor’s skin, to feel the electricity flow from fingertip to fingertip. Not that she wanted to rush into anything. She had too many reservations. About herself, not about Elinor.

&n
bsp; They stepped out of the restaurant into a vicious swirl of wind. ‘God, it’s Baltic,’ Elinor exclaimed. ‘When did that happen? It was really mild when we went in.’

  ‘Time flies when you’re having fun. It’s actually Wednesday now.’

  Elinor laughed and tucked her arm through Paula’s. ‘You know what I’d really like?’

  Paula’s chest constricted. She felt delight, desire and dread combine inside. ‘I’m far too well brought up to guess,’ she said.

  Elinor squeezed her arm. ‘I like that you’re not presumptuous. And I’d like for us to get to know each other a great deal better.’

  ‘Yes,’ Paula said cautiously, wondering where this was going.

  ‘And I don’t want this evening to end just yet. I know it’s late, but do you want to come back to mine? For a coffee? More conversation?’

  They paused for a moment under the canopy of a shop. ‘I’d like that,’ Paula said. ‘I’d really, really like that. But please don’t take this the wrong way. When you say coffee, it would have to be just that. I have to be in the office first thing, showered and alert and in fresh clothes.’

  Elinor chuckled. ‘In that case, we’d better go to yours, don’t you think?’ Before Paula could reply, Elinor had pulled her into an embrace. It was an electric moment for Paula. Her body tingled and her ears rang. She heard a soft moan and realised it had come from deep inside her. She wanted the kiss to go on for ever.

  When they finally parted, they were both breathing heavily. ‘Oh my,’ Elinor said.

  ‘Shall we go?’ Paula said, her voice a squawk. She cleared her throat, patting her pockets. ‘We can get a cab.’ She stopped short. ‘Hang on a minute.’ She opened her bag and raked through the contents. ‘I don’t believe it. I’ve left my bloody keys in the office. I was in such a rush not to be late for meeting you . . . I can picture it. They’re sitting on my desk, in front of my computer.’

  Elinor shrugged. ‘No problem. It’s no distance to your office. We can walk over and pick them up then get a cab from there.’